Festivals of Light
by starfishstar
Summary: In the winter of the war, the Tonkses and Lupins open their home to a Muggle family on the run. Love, light, warmth and Chanukah in the winter of Deathly Hallows.


**Note:** Written for rt_morelove 2017/18, ever so slightly adapted from prompt 9:

 _"My true love sent to me:_  
 _A runaway Muggle family."_

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"Kingsley has asked if we – if you, really – could do a rather large favour for the Order," Remus said.

Tonks looked up at him. He was hanging back in the doorway of her parents' kitchen, looking in at where she and Andromeda and Ted sat at the table, enchanting baubles for the Christmas tree. He still did this, hanging back like he wasn't quite sure he could enter the room and be welcome.

It was months since had Remus panicked, left and returned to her. And in those months, they'd worked hard to come through to the other side of all those fears together. Not all at once, but painstakingly, with caution and care and love, and they'd grown stronger for it. And Tonks' parents, too, had quietly shown Remus that yes, he needed to earn back trust, but he was earning it with every day he was here.

Still, when they visited here to her parents' house Remus hung back in this way, uncertain of crossing thresholds.

"What's this favour Kingsley's asking?" Tonks asked. She reached out a hand to Remus, a silent but unmistakeable sign urging him towards her.

He obliged, stepping into the room and coming to her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and nodded to Andromeda and Ted.

"There's a Muggle family being targeted by the Death Eaters," he said. "Or possibly they're Squibs, it wasn't entirely clear. But in any case, they need somewhere to stay, somewhere with magical protections, until they can arrange to leave the country. Molly and Arthur desperately wish they could take them in, of course – Arthur apparently knows them through something related to his work – but it's a bit difficult for the Weasleys to take on guests at the moment, since they're trying to keep up the pretence that Ron is living at the Burrow, ill and contagious with Spattergroit."

Tonks glanced up at him, where he was leaning gently against her shoulder, his face quiet and concerned. She could hear what he was really saying: That he, too, wished he and Tonks could offer this needed shelter. But the tiny flat they shared in London was far too small for even a single visitor, let alone a family.

"Of course they'll come here," Andromeda declared. Seven of the tiny silver Christmas tree baubles danced above her outstretched hand, the levitation wandless and apparently effortless, too. Tonks had always envied her mother's capability with that sort of spellwork. "We've enough space. Tell Kingsley it would be our pleasure."

Remus nodded in gratitude, and went off to Floo with Kingsley.

The family arrived later that same day: a mother, father, and three frankly adorable kids of ages ranging 5 and 10. It was the 21st of December and the sitting room was crammed with half-finished decorations and preparations for Christmas, but Tonks' parents shifted boxes and baubles out of the way and invited everyone in.

Tonks and Remus would be celebrating Christmas here with her parents, and it seemed to Tonks she'd spent nearly all her waking hours in the last week at her parents' house, decorating and arranging to her mother's exacting standards. Something about the world falling apart around them was making Andromeda determined to make home as cosy as possible.

"I'm a Squib," Micah, the father of the visiting family, explained, as Andromeda plied everyone with tea and Ted handed out enormous slices of Christmas cake. "I've never been much involved with the wizarding world. You'd think they'd be content to leave me alone, right?"

He nodded his thanks to Ted, accepting a small plate that was dwarfed by the slice of cake perched on it. Ted moved on to the mother of the family, Hannah, who smiled at him. The children were already digging into their own portions with gusto.

"But I'm in contact with Arthur Weasley occasionally, as a sort of liaison when he needs someone who understands the ins and outs of Muggle culture," Micah went on. "And I'm married to a Muggle but I still have some contact with the wizarding world, and that sort of cultural mixing appears to be a great crime these days. We came home yesterday to find a note stuck to our door."

Micah fished in his pocket and retrieved a crumpled bit of paper. He passed it to Andromeda, who was nearest.

Tonks heard her mother suck in a breath. Then Andromeda read aloud in a tight voice, " _Get out or be sorry, Muggle scum_."

Tonks shivered. She glanced instinctively at the three kids, clustered around the fireplace and devouring cake, but they hadn't reacted to hearing those cruel words. Possibly they didn't even know the word 'Muggle', or maybe they were too young to feel it was anything that related to them. Beside her, Tonks felt Remus tense as well.

"We appreciate your hospitality so much," Hannah put in. "Especially at such short notice, and for total strangers, too. I've contacted a cousin of mine in the US and we're working out the details of travelling there. We'll be out of your hair as soon as we can."

"Nonsense," Andromeda said. "It's nearly Christmas; you must stay with us that long."

Hannah exchanged a fleeting glance with her husband, so fast Tonks barely caught it.

"Actually…" Hannah said, "we're Jewish, so we don't celebrate Christmas. And we wouldn't want to disturb your family's celebration in any case. But thank you for the offer. That's very kind."

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have assumed," Andromeda said. "When is Chanukah this year? Has it happened already?"

Hannah blinked. Tonks wondered how rarely she met anyone who knew the name of even a single Jewish holiday, let alone that they varied in when they fell in relation to the secular year.

"It's…quite late this year, actually," Hannah said. "The first night of Chanukah isn't until the 23rd."

"Then you'll stay at least that long, won't you?" Andromeda asked. "I'd hate to think of you trying to celebrate on the run. You're very welcome here, and we'd love to celebrate with you, if you'd like."

Seeing Hannah's hesitation, Tonks piped up. "She really means it, you know. My mum used to host these massive holiday parties for anyone whose traditions tended to get trampled on by all the Christmas fervour. As a kid, I could tell you everything about Diwali, and Ramadan, and why Russian Orthodox Christmas is on a different day from ours…"

Tonks wondered if her mum missed those parties. Large gatherings would be too dangerous these days, of course, but it hurt to have to live this way, always weighing safety against their ability to just…live life.

Hannah and Micah shared a glance, one of those silent but much-speaking looks of long-established couples that Tonks so often observed between her own parents.

It was Hannah who spoke. "Thank you so much," she said. "We would love to stay."

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Tonks and Remus stayed there, at her parents' house, through to the evening. It seemed only polite, with visitors newly arrived. And Tonks knew her mum liked having her close. Where once that had grated on Tonks and her need for independence, she found herself minding less these days. The ever-nearing prospect of becoming a mother herself seemed to be making her more forgiving towards her own mum.

"It's true about those holiday celebrations my mum used to host," Tonks said to Remus, as they caught a brief moment alone in the sitting room, while her parents took Hannah and Micah and the children upstairs to show them where they would be sleeping.

Remus' hand was resting gently against the curve of her belly, and he had that fascinated, wondering look he wore so often these days. There was still fear in his face too, but the wonder was steadily overtaking it.

Remus blinked, coming back to himself, and leaned in to place a kiss gently at Tonks' temple. "I don't think I've heard about those," he said. "Was that when you were a child?"

"Mm-hm. When she worked at the Ministry, and later, too. Mum always knew a lot of people, and as you could probably guess she's got a thing for making sure people feel welcome, given her family history and all that."

Remus chuckled wryly at her deceptively easy phrasing of what had doubtless been a long and protracted matter, when her mother had been chucked out of the Black family for marrying a Muggle.

Tonks rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean. She likes to make sure everyone feels included, because she – and my dad – know what it's like to be excluded. They always liked having friends over for dinner and such, but she especially liked to host a big gathering in the winter, something that was celebratory but included her friends and colleagues who didn't celebrate Christmas, too. I always thought that was her whole reason, but looking back – I wonder if she was doing it for my sake, too? So that I would grow up knowing there are lots of ways to be and that they're all equally good. That seems like a very my mum kind of thing to do."

"It's a shame we can't do that now," Remus said quietly. "People need a reason to come together and be happy, more than ever. And anything to remind us that our differences are strengths can only be a good thing."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

Then Remus cocked his head and said, "Hm." And then, "I wonder…" And then he said, "I'll be just a moment."

He slid from the sofa and to his feet, and left the room. A moment later Tonks heard him climbing the stairs, to where her parents were upstairs with the guests, leaving Tonks gazing in the direction he'd gone, quite curious now. Remus was sometimes reserved, certainly, but rarely was he so cryptic. She wondered what idea he'd caught hold of.

Twenty minutes later, they were all in the back garden – Remus, Tonks, her parents, Hannah and Micah and their kids. The garden was just as heavily protected as the house, Tonks knew, or her parents wouldn't have let any of them out here.

Remus had built a small fire within a ring of stones, and all of them had gathered around it. The children were delighting in tossing twigs in and watching them catch flame.

"I spent last year living with…a group of people who lived a more traditional life," Remus explained to Micah and Hannah. "The traditions they follow are based on nature and the seasons."

His deliberate vagueness was not to conceal his own lycanthropy, Tonks realised, but to protect the Order's secrets, and the safety of the werewolves he had lived with. Many of them had become friends to him by the end. He missed them, she knew, though he didn't talk about it often. She reached for his hand, and Remus answered her with a smile.

"Tonight, the 21st of December, is the solstice, the longest night of the year," Remus said, addressing all of them. "Like so many cultures, the people I lived with marked the turning of the year by bringing light into the darkness. Usually, the solstice fire would be started from a Yule log that was saved from the previous year. For tonight, though, we've made do with what branches and twigs we could find here in the garden."

He smiled at the children, who grinned back at him. Remus was already a big hit with the kids after only those few minutes of exploring the garden with them, setting them little tasks and making sure they felt involved in his endeavour.

"Next, we would throw juniper branches onto the fire, and breathe in a little of their smoke as a symbol of purification for the new year," Remus went on. "Juniper is another thing we didn't have at short notice, though. But luckily, we did find – Maya?"

The smallest of the children stepped forward and opened her hands, which were cupping a few sprigs from the yew tree at the bottom of the garden. Solemnly she approached each of them, children and adults alike, and offered each a sprig of yew needles.

"Ready?" Remus asked, looking at the kids. Nodding enthusiastically, they threw their small handfuls onto the fire. "Now, don't get too close," Remus warned. "But see if you can tell if it smells any different."

"I can, I can!" exclaimed Noah, the middle child. "It smells all…pine-y."

Hannah laughed and ruffled his hair. Then she coughed, flapped a hand in front of her face and muttered ruefully, "I think I got too close and breathed in a bit too much. But I can see how it would be purifying. There's such a clean smell to it."

Remus smiled at her, too. Seeing Remus interact with strangers, Tonks was always struck again by how _kind_ he was. She didn't get to observe him like this as often as she would like, in these tense days of the war, when people mostly kept to themselves and most of her time and attention were focused on the Order.

"And lastly," Remus said, and his voice suddenly sounded much more solemn, "the solstice is also a time when we would honour the eldest women in the…group." Tonks heard how he kept himself from saying, _the pack_. "And they would offer each person a blessing."

The fire crackled gently at their feet, in the middle of the circle they formed. A circle of families and strangers, brought together by the cruelties of this war, determined to shed light nonetheless.

"Andromeda," Remus said. "I don't know if this is too much of an imposition. But as the woman of this house, would you be willing to offer…not a blessing, necessarily, but good wishes, perhaps? For the coming year?"

Tonks watched them share a thoughtful look, her husband and her mother. Even now, it still sometimes took her by surprise to remember that they'd known each other long before Tonks met Remus. Not that their circles had closely overlapped, but they'd certainly crossed paths now and then, when Remus was Sirius' school friend and Andromeda was Sirius' grown-up cousin. Sirius had connected them, long before Tonks did.

And Andromeda had never disliked Remus. If anything, she'd appreciated his influence on impetuous Sirius. But she'd been sceptical – to put it politely – to see her daughter become involved with someone who was so frequently ill, and poor, and out of work. She'd come around with time, and with Remus' clear commitment to Tonks in the time since his flight and return, but it hadn't always been easy, not for either of them.

Andromeda looked at Remus now and said, "Of course."

Remus reached out his hands towards her, over the fire. The three kids stared up at them with rapt attention. Remus said, "I honour you as the mother of this house. Thank you for letting me be a part of your home and your family."

The firelight glinting off her dark hair, Tonks' mum looked every inch this role, the honoured woman of the house. She spoke without hesitation, too, as if this ceremony were one she'd always known.

"You're welcome here, Remus, you know that." Andromeda took Remus' hands in her own, and for a moment she really did seem to be herself but also something larger, some greater force. "I give you my blessing, today and all days. May you be happy, Remus, and may you feel peace."

Looking at them, Tonks thought of all the times she'd dismissed her mother's words of advice or care – as an impetuous teenager, but many times more recently than that as well. It was funny, really, how wise and kind her mother could seem when viewed through someone else's eyes, instead of those of an impatient daughter.

Tonks suddenly knew what she wanted from this longest, darkest night of the year.

"Mum," she said, stepping towards her in the firelight. "Would you give me your blessing, too?"

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"We light one more candle each night, until on the eighth night of Chanukah we have all eight of them," Hannah said. "But tonight is the first night. So tonight, only one candle."

It was two nights later and they were all gathered around the kitchen table, watching as Hannah set out the menorah, the brass candelabra with its nine arms curving delicately upwards. Maya, the littlest, was in Hannah's lap. The other two children, Miriam and Noah, crowded close to her on either side.

"We light the Chanukah candles to remind us of times when the more powerful cultures around us have tried to crush us, to take away our traditions or even our lives," Hannah continued softly, one hand stroking Maya's hair. "I'm not particularly religious, certainly not observant. And Chanukah is not even the most important of our holidays. But I've always liked it. Chanukah is warmth and laughter and lots of food, family and friends coming together. The culture of it matters to me."

She placed one candle in the furthest right arm of the menorah, and a helper candle, to light the other one, in the central arm that stood a little higher than the others.

Hannah looked around at all three of her children, then smiled up at Micah and at Andromeda, Ted, Remus and Tonks. "Ready everyone?" she asked. Then she struck a match – Tonks and Remus had found the matches on an enjoyable excursion to a Muggle shop, since matches weren't something a wizarding household ever needed to keep on hand – and set alight the middle candle, the one that stood higher than the others.

Hannah began to sing a blessing in Hebrew in a sweet, clear voice. Her family joined in, the children's voices high and piping, Micah's deep and rich.

After the last word had rung out, Hannah lifted the lit candle carefully from its holder. She smiled at her eldest daughter. "Miriam? Would you like to?"

The girl nodded and took the candle from her mother. She held its flame to the wick of the candle on the far right, until both were alight, then placed the first candle carefully back into its place.

For a long moment, everyone was silent, gazing into the small, dancing flames. Then Hannah said, "Happy Chanukah!" She placed a kiss on top of Maya's head, and pulled Noah and Miriam to her for a hug, each in turn. The rest of them exchanged good wishes for Chanukah, too.

"And now," Hannah said, "I believe our kind hosts have a surprise for us." She glanced up at Ted, who grinned.

"Indeed we do!" Tonks' dad held out his hand, carefully closed around some small object. He looked at each of the children in turn. "I know you had to leave most of your things behind when you left home. So your mum explained to me what a dreidl should look like, and we made one together."

With a flourish, he opened his hand to reveal a little wooden top with a pointed bottom and square sides, each bearing a Hebrew letter.

Noah squealed. "You made a dreidl! That's so cool!" He leaned in close to inspect it.

"Would you like to play?" Ted asked. Noah nodded vigorously, and Ted handed him the little wooden top.

Andromeda reached under the table and emerged with an enormous box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, which she held out to the children. "I know you usually play with coins or chocolates, but perhaps these will do?"

"Yes, thank you! Thank you so much!" Miriam enthused, reaching out to take the box.

The three children repaired to the corner of the kitchen, where they arranged themselves on the floor and began a game that involved spinning the little wooden top to determine who was in possession of how many at any given time from the enormous pile of Every Flavour Beans in the centre of their circle.

"You've been too kind to us," Micah said, watching the children. "We didn't have time to buy them gifts, in all this chaos. Not that we'll be able to take much with us to the US, anyway." He looked at Andromeda, then Ted. "You've made it a real holiday for the children after all, and I can't tell you how grateful we are."

"I hope you believe me when I say the pleasure is very much ours," Andromeda answered. "Truly, it's been a joy to have you as our guests."

"And we'll be on our way again tomorrow," Hannah mused, watching her children play. "On to a new life." She shook her head, seemingly to dispel those melancholy thoughts. Then she stood up from the table and came to join the rest of the adults. "I can only second what Micah said. We're so grateful that Arthur was able to talk to Kingsley, who sent us to you."

Micah put his arm around her, and Hannah leaned her weight against his side, her gaze falling again on the menorah, its two little lights bravely burning.

"The menorah was my grandmother's – my father's mother," she said. "We had to leave home fast and we couldn't take much, after we found that Death Eater note, but I grabbed the menorah. Because it was hers."

Hannah stood straight again, but tucked her hand into Micah's. Tonks found herself reaching for Remus' hand, too.

"My father and his parents were German speakers in what's now the Czech Republic," Hannah said. "They were lucky that they had the resources to get out early – in 1939. My dad was just a child, but his older sister came to England first, then sent for him. Their parents went to Istanbul, though, because they were doctors and that's where they were able to find jobs. And the family stayed separated like that, between England and Turkey and some distant cousins in America, even after the war. I only met my grandparents a few times." She sighed. "I never expected it to happen all over again, to my children."

Suddenly Andromeda stepped forward and grasped Hannah's hand in hers. "This won't be forever," she said fiercely. "We've been through this before, and we may go through it again, but this kind of hate can't keep its hold forever. There will be a time when it's safe here again for all of us."

Hannah gazed at Andromeda, and grasped her hand in return. "Yes," she said. "I'm going to choose to believe that. I believe we'll meet again, when the world has stepped back from this madness. And then we will be your hosts, and you our guests."

"I look forward to it," Andromeda said. The two women smiled at each other.

"Now," Hannah said, "I seem to recall you promised to let us make dinner for you, as a very small thank-you for your hospitality. Have you ever had latkes before?"

Hannah and Micah took easy charge of the kitchen, setting out bowls and pans and ingredients. They insisted that Andromeda and Ted sit back and relax, but they let Tonks and Remus help, when Tonks asked if they could. Hannah set them both to grating potatoes, side by side at the long wooden worktop.

Tonks grinned at her husband, wondering what he made of all this: strangers who already felt like family running her parents' kitchen, the three children shrieking and laughing over their game. For a small family, Tonks' could be awfully full of guests and goings-on, sometimes. "Having fun yet?" she asked.

"Very much so," Remus said with a smile. His hands were covered in juice from the potatoes, but he leaned over and bumped her shoulder companionably with his.

"You can see why my mum did those holiday parties, right?" she said. "It wasn't some kind of charity on her part or something. It's fun, getting to know other people's traditions."

"Very much so," Remus agreed. He grated another potato, the shreds falling neatly into a pile in the large metal bowl. Then he said softly, "And your mother is right, too, about the future. It won't always be like this. We'll work to make sure it isn't like this."

"Yes," Tonks agreed. She thought of the Order, their small, embattled band, still fighting. She thought of Harry and Hermione and Ron, out there somewhere and not giving up. And she said it again. " _Yes_."

It was a little later, after they'd finished the potatoes and started on the onions, that Tonks left the bustle of the kitchen and passed the door of the sitting room. She'd meant to go upstairs and see if she could find any of her old picture books for the kids. But the sound of her parents' voices, talking together quietly on the sofa, arrested her.

"You know that will have to be me, too, sooner or later," Ted was saying. "I can only keep putting off the Muggle-Born Registration Commission for so long. Eventually I'm going to have to go into hiding, or run."

"If you go, I go," Andromeda said. Her voice trembled, but that somehow made it all the more fierce.

"No," Ted said. "Dromeda, no, we've been over this. You're safe, you can stay here. Stay for Dora. And Remus, and the baby. Stay for them."

"No," Andromeda whispered. "I can't let you go alone."

"I won't be alone," Ted said. "I'll find others to run with, if it comes to that. And I'll stay here as long as I can. Maybe it won't even come to that, to running. But what kind of dad would I be if I let you leave our daughter behind?"

Tonks pressed herself into the shadows outside the sitting room door, her throat suddenly tight. She wanted to run into the room, she wanted to fling herself at her dad, cling to him and hold him there and beg him not to leave, _never_ to leave.

But that was childish, and this war had long since stripped away childish things. Of course her dad would flee, if staying home became too dangerous. And Tonks would let him go, because she loved him and wanted him to be safe. It was just as certain, too, that when it came down to it her mum would stay. Andromeda would stay for her, for Tonks.

Tonks squeezed her eyes shut, and her hands into fists. She didn't want to think about any of it. She'd been valiantly not thinking about it, for as long as she could. She wanted everything to stay as it was: the world dangerous, but her family safe.

She opened her eyes and took a resolute breath. No, of course she didn't want that. She wanted the world safe, for everyone, no matter what it took.

Firmly, not glancing again into the sitting room, Tonks turned her steps towards the stairs, to see if somewhere in her old bedroom she could unearth her copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ to read to Hannah and Micah's children.

When she came back into the kitchen, Remus was laughing at something Hannah had said. Micah was down on the floor with the kids, spinning the dreidl upside down, as Noah shrieked gleefully, "No, Daddy, you're doing it wrong!" and Maya chanted, "Again, Daddy! Again!"

Andromeda and Ted had returned to the kitchen, too. Andromeda's eyes bore the slightest hint of red, but they were both smiling.

Tonks went to her dad and hugged him. He squeezed her back, unquestioning. Her dad gave the best hugs.

"I love you, Dad," she whispered.

Ted looked down at her, surprised but glad. "And I love you too, Doradee." He dropped a kiss on top of her head, and Tonks smiled despite herself. Parents were always such parents. She was twenty-four years old, and her dad still treated her like she was five.

Tonks gave him a last squeeze, then crossed the room back to Remus, who had grated an impressive pile of onions into the bowl and wasn't even blinking from the sting of their juice. Sometimes she really did think Remus was superhuman.

Tonks leaned her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his middle. He was still too thin, but he felt more solid now than when he'd first come back from his year of living and scrounging in the wild with the werewolf pack. His grey jumper was woolly and soft under her cheek. He felt like home, was what he felt like.

"Hey," Remus said softly, turning to look at her, smiling that smile that made his eyes crinkle and his whole face light up.

Nothing was certain. Nothing was promised, not today, or tomorrow. But Tonks was going to enjoy every moment with her family that she could. Moments like this one, celebrating a holiday of light in the darkness.

"Hey," Tonks said in return, smiling back at him. "Happy Chanukah, Remus."

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 ** _~ the end ~_**

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 **End notes:**

• The inspiration for Andromeda's holiday(s) parties comes from the Marauders-era story **"Evergreen"** by Raven, which I rec and encourage you all the read! (You can search for it on Archive of Our Own, since it's not possible to link here.) That story has long been important to me for the way it shows the Order celebrating everyone's traditions in winter, not just Christmas, coming all together because they need that light and hope so much during wartime.

• The traditions Remus honours here are from his time with the werewolves in " **Raise Your Lantern High** ". Tonks and Remus, after he left and then came back, are explored in " **Yahrzeit** ", " **Already There** " and " **Go On, Try** ". I also have lots (LOTS) more Remus/Tonks stories, and Andromeda (and Ted) stories, which you can find via my profile page. :-)

• Hannah's family history is an amalgam of the histories of real-life friends of mine, in both England and the US.


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